


The Diner Initiative

by DjCentralia



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Diners, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Toast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 11:58:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19463527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DjCentralia/pseuds/DjCentralia
Summary: Diner toast can change a man, er, demon.





	The Diner Initiative

**Author's Note:**

> Might make a little series off of food-stuff experience, might not. You know how we writers are with consistency.....

In the hours, days, and weeks following the near end of the world, Aziraphale and Crowley’s lives returned to normalcy. Well, as normal as life could be for and angel and a demon who no longer feel the need to sway humanity’s tendencies. Crowley had decided to move in with is Angel in the upstairs of the bookshop and sell the flat that was never lived in in the first place.  


The first few days were mostly spent marveling at what they had done and waiting to see if there were to be any more repercussions after their trials. Much to their surprise (and pleasure), it had appeared that heaven and hell had wiped them from their radars. Miracles went unquestioned and no agents were to be seen when the two would decide to go out and about.  


One drizzly afternoon Aziraphale had felt peckish for an English breakfast (Crowley was unsure how wanting for a near platter of food would only qualify as peckish) so they strolled down to one of Zira’s preferred diners. It was one of those hole-in-the-wall food spots where you knew the food had to be just short of holy for the place to remain open.  


Crowley just watched Aziraphale, who was using a very meticulous pattern to work his way through his meal (which was explained to Crowley to be the best “flavor order and equilibrium”, whatever that meant), and circled his coffee cup on its bottom edges.  


Aziraphale closed his eyes and let out a satisfied sigh, “I tell you, Crowley, this is _exactly_ what I needed.”  


Crowley smirked and rested his cheek on his hand, “As much as I love watching you be pleased, Angel, I still don’t understand your love of food. I mean, we don’t need it. It just…takes up time.”  


Aziraphale shot his eyes open, “Just takes up time!? Crowley, my dear, food is one of the original expressions used by man. Every dish makes you feel something different.” He lifted up his fork for the next bite, “Besides, at least I don’t sleep for an exorbitant number of hours. _Also_ not necessary for us.”  


Crowley scoffed, “Excuse me, but sleep is one of the best tools to foster and grow the imagination.” They both chuckled. Aziraphale took another bite then waggled his fork in Crowley’s direction, “At-at least try a bite of toast or something.” He smiled, “trust me on this one.”  


Crowley grimaced as he reached his right hand to Aziraphale’s plate, only to have the piece he was reaching for speared with a fork, “ah, er, not that one though.” Aziraphale gave an apologetic smile, “that one’s been sharing space with the beans and the edge of the egg. I shan’t hand that one over.” He held out an overly buttered piece from the other side of the plate to Crowley, “don’t forget the jam, dear.”  


_“Don’t forget the jam, dear,”_ Crowley mocked, popping open a jar on the table with a label that has since been torn to bits by the fidgeting nervous hands of diners on breakfast dates and morning-afters. He smeared the purples and reds across his toast, placed the butter knife on the jar lid, and eyed the slice in front of him. “If I regret this-“  


“What?” Aziraphale interjected, “there’ll be…. _hell_ to pay?” He smirked, knowing that Crowley’s eyes were rolling behind those circular sunglasses of his.  


Crowley took a reluctant bite and immediately understood what Aziraphale had been going on about. After not having anything but coffee and fermented beverages for the last two thousand years, his taste buds painted a mural with just a simple slice of toast and jam.  


Aziraphale smiled as Crowley moaned, “Okay, Angel. I’ll give you this one.”  
  


The next day Aziraphale came back to the bookshop after meeting with another unwilling bookseller (who was hoping not to trade anything with Mr. Fell) only to be welcomed home by a cacophony of plates and glass echoing down from upstairs. “C-Crowley?” He made his way upstairs to find Crowley in the small kitchenette, along with various types of bread (each loaf having just a little of it used) and an inordinate amount of jellies and jams all opened and oozing onto his previously neat countertops. “Crowley!”  


The demon whirled around, “What?”  


Aziraphale shrugged and winced, “Why, just…”  


“None of it tastes right.”  


“Excuse me?”  


Crowley sauntered over to Aziraphale and flopped his hands on the angel’s shoulders, “None. Of it. Tastes. _Right_.”  


Aziraphale smirked and placed his hands on the sides of Crowley’s face, “Dear, it’s because you don’t have a griddle.” He pecked a kiss on Crowley’s forehead and walked away, collecting jam jars on his way to the fridge.  


Crowley turned to face him, “But……shouldn’t toast be made in the toaster?”  


“In domestic circumstances, yes,” Aziraphale laughed, “but in restaurants it’s made on the griddle. It’s better because it picks up the flavors from the other dishes that have been made. They also butter it on both sides, which is a plus.”  


Aziraphale turned back towards Crowley, who was surveying the kitchen. He scowled and paced back over to him, “Crowley, so help me God if you try putting a griddle in my bookshop,” he grabbed him by his coat and pulled him flush against him, “I will have you banished myself.”  


Crowley draped his arms over Aziraphale’s shoulders, “Banished from a bookshop? I guess there’s worse things….”


End file.
